Poems tagged ‘West Ham’
Nuno in claret and blue
So it is that
Nuno arrives at the
Entrance to the Bubbles
Blowers and yet
Managers come and go
Going with the flow
Through the revolving doors
And those trembling floors
In ever increasing circles
Like the fleeting moments
In our lives
When stars appear and disappear
Like passing strangers
Who emerge into the light
With all their might
And before you know it
It’s an impassioned fight
For a while
Then it’s out of the door
P45, say no more
And so Nuno parks himself
In the busy car park
West Ham bound
But certainly not the
Boleyn Ground
Two games endured
That salt and pepper beard
Bristling with intent
Hellbent on success
Once again
The first seeds of ambition
A point at the Hill Dickinson
Where Toffees are masticated
With the taste sensation
That reminds you of childhood
Nuno Espirito Santo now
Doing the rounds
In ever increasing circles
Firstly Spurs simply not up
To that required standard
Not good enough in the
Grumbling debating chamber
Of North London
Then quite literally hounded out
By angry, predatory, hungry
Wolves who peeled back
The layers of the past
Where the ghosts of Billy Wright,
John Richards, Derek Dougan
Steve Daley and all
Once breathed Old Gold
Now Nuno grabs the reins
Of another poisoned chalice
West Ham United
Best of luck there
My friend
The happy Hammers
Still anchored to the
Bottom three
Like the plankton
Of the most powerful ocean
Nowhere to go
No room for manoeuvre
Trapped in a vice
Firstly Potter
Promised us a porcelain vase
But we may just as well have
Been on Planet Mars
No indication of a revival
Merely survival
Achieved within a hair’s breadth
Of relegation,
The closest of calls
The skin of their teeth
Underneath the rest
Far from their all conquering best
After the ineptitude
Of Lopetegui
Graham Potter could only get
A discordant note
Simply with no one to vote
Of confidence
From the wildly dissenting voices
On those turbulent terraces
The fans are up in arms
And they pay good money
It just ain’t funny
From the mosh pit of grievance
Out with the board
Take your leave Brady and Sullivan
But Nuno is our pacifying influence
He’ll iron out the creases
A gentle and modest soul
Yesterday against the
Irrepressible Gunners
West Ham worthy for a while
Before devoured by the
The firing on all cylinders
Of Arsenal’s rampant
Table toppers
Unforgiving this time
Like the wrecking ball
They’ve always been
Demolishing their neighbours
Fence with no mercy
Whatsoever
No hat-trick of victories
At the Emirates
From the claret and blue
Squadron of well drilled soldiers
Liverpool run out of stamina
At the Bridge
Where Chelsea show no mercy
And then there was the international break
Thank goodness for that
Time to recalibrate and
Sort the wheat from the chaff
Nuno has his work cut out
Re-building from the charred ruins
Of another West Ham debacle
But in Nuno we trust
Bees of Brentford
Next up in a fortnight
Honeyed auras
At the London Stadium
It has to get better
It simply can’t get any worse
Spurs again. Oh woe and woebegone.
It always seems to turn out like this
Oh woe and woebegone
One step forward, another step back
Always changing colours
Like an indecisive chameleon
West Ham back to square one
Blasted into orbit by North London
Neighbours, Spurs sweet as sugar
Lord of that name
Will be pointing in one direction
Yes Graham Potter, you’re fired
It had to be the noisy neighbours
If not geographically precise as such
And just when it began to look
As if corners had been turned at
Forest, a fortnight ago
False dawn
Just plunging into the darkness
Of a lonely, desolate wilderness
Where haunting nights
Leave claret and blue
Bloodied stains
Flooding copiously from
Tired and weak eyes
Hammers now fraught and frazzled
Hot and bothered
The Slough of Despond
Desperately seeking some
Light at the end of the tunnel
But only painful despondency
Drags around their leaden feet
The end of the world
Not quite
Just blurred vision
And broken hopes
After sanguine summers
Of hope and perhaps
Redemption
But, now the brick wall
Has been hit with a vengeance
Spurs hit a hat-trick on the day
But apparently it could have been
Far worse
Set pieces leave
Claret and blue bastions
In tatters and shattered
Morale now sunk to a new low
In the bottom three
Of the Premier League
Frank, yes you have to be
Honest,
No doubting this Thomas
Danish pastries
All around
Another season of
Gruelling gruesome winters
For our East End heroes
It could be the longest
And most dramatically
Disastrous season
For residents at the
London Stadium
Oh please can we
Watch this season
Through bunched hands over our
Angry, disgusted eyes?
Potter, it’s time
To find the right
Earthenware clay
For craft and guile
But from where
We hardly know
West Ham – crisis what crisis!
Oh come on we’ve been here
In the land of deja vu
Crisis if not quite catastrophic
One game in
And the alarm bells are ringing
Out across the Westfield shopping centre
Stratford in stasis, stagnant
As a pond, static and already
Fancied for the dreaded
Relegation drop into
The boiling furnace of
Oblivion and the Championship
Wilderness,
So here we are now
Mutilated by the Mackems
Of Sunderland
Now finding their
Tentative feet in the
Premier League again
Emergency emergency
The East London claret and blue
Are in the most appalling state
Two defenders and a strike force
Totalling your football poet’s
Age, Wilson!
Yes it does feel like Dad’s Army
At times
Callum Wilson fresh from
Geordie exertions
Still capable of
Goal scoring miracles
But 33 now ready for
Rag and bone man territory
Not quite
Pensionable status
Then Fulkrug
Also approaching
The old boys network
32 now
And to think Potter
Wanted fresh young
Ceramics at his kiln
Just Kyle Walker Peters
Once a Saint now a Hammer
And a pancake flat
Midfield, soggy and insipid
Like an ageing Roman artefact
Slow as the proverbial tortoise
Plodding, powerless and
Of course pedestrian
JWP still searching for
Eye of the needle passes
But 30 now
Not exactly past his best
But shortly and appropriately
The autumn of his career
James Ward Prowse,
Hyphenated but happy to be
At the London Stadium
And yet it all feels ragged,
Threadbare, detached
And above all dysfunctional
On Friday it’s Chelsea, Chelsea
Still raking it in by the
Millions and billions
Wealthy beyond reason
Star studded and naturally
Sophisticated by the harbour
And village that fringes
Its theatre of London
Swankiness
No longer the Premier League
Champions of modern times
But still a force to be
Reckoned with
Never beaten until the
Final whistle
In the opener of the
New season
Held by Palace
This year’s team of teams
FA Cup winners
But Oliver Glasner
Gazed across at
Mark Guehi
His rock at the back
With despairing eyes
Guehi now much more
Concerned with thoughts
Of wearing Liverpool red
And so he is
But in the East End
A blanket of darkness
Falls sombrely
Across the hapless Hammers
Now blurred vision
Like a soul destorying thud
Against the grey brick walls
It just feels like
The worst and most
Excruciatingly painful
Of all seasons
Euro Conference winners
Now feels like ancient history
The Stone Age, the Neolithic Age
When men used to hammer anything
From tables and chairs
Into real, permanent life
The fans at the London Stadium
Will be hoping that
The crystal ball forecast
Has got it completely wrong
But you do fear the worst
At the moment, anyway
Because, now Chelsea
Feels like
The massacre of all
Massacres
Hammers hammered
Pummelled, beaten
To a pulp
Chelsea must be licking lips
It has to be theirs
For the taking
Three points for the visitors
And Hammers hung out to dry
But you never know
Moses did part the Red Sea
Hold on didn’t Victor
In his Blues parish
Boost their morale
And yet
It really doesn’t look good
For, now at least, West Ham
Let’s fight back from the brink
But Come on you Irons
They can do it
You feel sure
They will
Goodbye Julen.
So Julen packs his bags
Thank goodness cry the
Hammers wags
It was never fated to be
West Ham sack the Spanish
Cavalier matador
Julen Lopetegui
Swishing his cape
But lacking shape
For the last time
The perilous climb
Among the cockles and whelks
Of London’s East End
Farewell to the
Man who always knew
His destiny
Was completely out of
His hands
And yet last summer
The heavenly rays of
Sunshine and sangria
Shone powerfully
On senor Julen
Liquid and languid
At the height of June
Now the Potter waits
With fresh and pristine clay
Ready to manipulate on
The steadiest kiln
Moulding affectionately
With tender loving care
Graham Potter it does
Seem the obvious choice
But spare a moving word
For the thoughts and deeds
Of Julen Lopetegui
It seemed such a good idea
Formerly of the mighty
And sweetly mellifluous
Real Madrid
Always an orchestral delight
European Cup royalty
Of course they are
Notes, quavers and crotchets
On Mediterranean acres of green
Passes to please the most
Discerning purist
Then Sevilla, a winner again
Sucking on the succulent oranges
From the local groves
But then Wolves saw something
That others may not have seen
A fine, upstanding gentleman
But never of Premier League breeding
Sadly though it’s the departure gate
For Julen, you did look
The right fit
Never had the correct kit
But square pegs in round holes
Left gaping gaps
At the London Stadium
Nine more of the best
To feed the fans fantasy,
Summerville, Todebo, Kilman,
Rodriguez, Wan Bissaka too,
It all looked stronger and fitter
But then lopsided
Out of kilter, sloppy,
Slovenly, shabby and
Totally out of synch
Down in the dungeons
Of 14th
Only seven points clear
Of the big drop
Surely not after European
Excursions and
Trophy gathering to boot
But Graham Potter
West Ham are hoping
For Brighton belles
Than Chelsea blues
Still, it was a pleasure
To know you, Julen Lopetegui
You were good and sincere
But never a claret and blue
West Ham walloped again
Oh woe West Ham
Walloped without
Legal recourse
Agonising and anguished
At Anfield
Over and over again
Another 5-1 thrashing
Of bloodthirsty savagery
What is to become
Of our claret and blue
Heroes?
Whatever happened to them?
So they told us in the punk
Vernacular
Muddied but studied
From a distance
Useless as a chocolate teapot
Nothing last night
At Liverpool
Probably quite spineless again
Defeatist, submissive, surrendering
As if football were a broken clock
No timing, no appetite, no inclination
Energy drained, just compliant
Fill your boots Liverpool
Men against boys
Not another cliche
But the truth
And nothing but
Oh Lopetegui, the jury
Is deliberating
The court is out
But Brentford on Saturday
Bees gathering over the honey pot
West Ham just hoping
For rainbows and miracles
A win will do
Just a win or two
Germany calling
It could be the night of nights
But probably won’t be
When push comes to a shove
West Ham
Germany calling
Your country needs you
To be present and correct
Possibly a match too far
Bayern Leverkusen
Racing away with the
Bundesliga
A force of nature
Like a runaway train
Unbeaten since the
Beginning of time
Seemingly so
It could be a formality
For our Teutonic opponents
No real point in turning up
At the lavish German spectacle
Silently Hammers
Resigning themselves to
What will be will be
It was a pleasure
To be associated with
European company
But unless the fates
Know something different
Then tonight marks
The exit point for West Ham
And yet who knows?
Since Liverpool were once
Three down in a Champions League Final
And miraculously won
Against the odds
But harsh reality should intrude
Tonight, yes, the final swansong
For those battle hardened
Warriors from the East End
London Stadium crusaders
We’ll settle for Prague
Last June
Something to salivate over
And pinch ourselves with joy
We’ll take that stirring run
From Jarred Bowen
Head down on goal
Clean through
Before emphatically planting
The ball into the net
West Ham Euro Conference
Memories like golden ingots
Winners of the trophy
We thought we’d never see again
But did
Bayern Leverkusen
We can see you
And although we’d
Like to believe
We might be able to
Embrace this wondrous
Challenge
Realistically not
And yet who’d have
Thought the United States
Could ever beat England
In World Cup conflicts
Of 74 years ago
It materialised before
Our eyes
And dazed astonishment
Ensued
America beat England
The country we’d assumed
Would just crumble
Under the relentless
Onslaught of goals
From England’s green
And pleasant land
So West Ham
David Moyes
Before Lucas Paqueta
Finally decides to
Call it a day
In the East End of London
One more trophy perhaps
Wishful thinking
But then some walked on water
You never, ever know
Exhausted West Ham
Oh for the stresses and strains
On another exhausting season
So goes the popular consensus
In the world of David Moyes
You can now hear those creaking,
Groaning, snapping, rapidly
Decaying claret and blue limbs
Another season of aches and pains
At every juncture of the season
Pity for those poor darlings
In the claret and blue camp
How could it be otherwise?
Not even half way through
Domestic servitude
For the happy Hammers
And already the creases
And wrinkles of
Worried brows of sweat
Are draining West Ham
Of essential energy
For forthcoming battles
Besides, we’re just under
A fortnight away from
Festive frivolities
And the punishing demands
Are taking their toll
Not even half way through
Premier League jousts
And David Moyes believes
His side of downtrodden,
Aching tendons and groin strains
And a whole host of sprained
Ankles, toes and back strains
Are seeping into the souls
Of West Ham’s latest European
Odyssey.
The agony, the discomfort
But the last Europa League
Meeting with Freiberg
This is becoming too
Strenuous for words
The Hammers are through
To the next round
Of Europa League adventures
But why the grumpy objections
From Scot of the East End
Since this was the schedule
For the rest of England’s
Football ambassadors
Surely no excuses
No plausible arguments
Since we knew where
West Ham were at the start
Of the season
Spinning
A thousand plates
Weighing up the balance
Of probabilities and
Priorities
But then Moyes
Would have you believe
That the Fulham fiasco
Had to be traced
To players with common colds
The symptoms of flu
Suddenly the London Stadium
Becomes Emergency Ward 10
Or more latterly Casualty
More accident and emergency
Excuses for blowing
Hot and cold in Premier League
Fiercely competitive struggles
Against the bad and the good
Have a rest in a dark room
West Ham United
Rest those fingers, arms,
Legs, knees, shoulders and
Of course toes
You deserve Christmas
Jollities, East End
Claret and blue
Blood pressures
Soaring into the
The stratosphere
Of tiredness
Oh stop the season
Just for a while
Those thighs are in
A state of rebellion
There can be nothing left
In the tank
Slow those flexible reflexes
No longer as supple
As they were back in August
Send them to the Savoy
Or a luxury spa in a
Five star hotel
Fulham was inevitable
You could sense it,
See it, feel it in your bones
But now Freiberg
For the final fandango
In football’s first half
Of the European
Business class
So let’s hear it for
The weeping violins
Or maybe this is just
West Ham grinding to
A temporary halt
For it was ever thus
Unbeaten in four
And then startled
By a Cottage industry
That blossomed with
Ten in two games
So tonight West Ham
Be ready to roll over
German resistance
Since the Sunday
Roasting of Hammers
Pride and joy
Has just disturbed
The status quo
It was one bad day
At Craven Cottage
But it could be
More if the engine
Refuses to spark
And the wheels come off
Before Boxing Day
And we all know
What happened then
An 8-2 bloodied nose
Against Blackburn
Surely hopefully
Never again
So West Ham
Recognise your flaws
And the victory bugle call
Buck up your ideas
Or maybe not
Since it is just a game
Oh what a claret and blue relief
Oh what a claret and blue relief
You can almost see the puffed cheeks
West Ham safe from relegation
But quite the most horrendous ordeal
We can see quite clearly
From afar but long enough
To appreciate human emotion
In all of its contrasting moods
Cowering behind sofas
It could only be surely
Be the happy Hammers
Agonisingly unbearable, typical
This could only be West Ham
The wince, those twisted facial
Grimaces of Chinese water torture
Pain, anguished knots of barely
Concealed frustration
Lined faces
Permanently worried
All of those wasted responses
In win or lose settings
On trains going home from
The good natured wars
Of Saturday afternoon long
Ago, etched in our thoughts
Why, but who cares now where
Fear and constant nine
Month wear and tear hangs heavy
Over once thriving clatter
Of East End dockyards
But now we think of today
Now disappointment
Then ecstasy floods across
Their furrowed foreheads
Heads lost in a world of
What might have been
It could all have been so different
But today West Ham hit the mythical
40 points of order
On the penultimate game of the season
Home from home victories
At the London Stadium
Sanctuaries of domestic content
Against a side Don Revie
Once described as the best
In the country
The Leeds of Bremner, Giles,
Lorimer, Jones, Clarke, Sprake
At times unstoppable for the
Right reasons
But then attacked by those
Who satirised their best intentions
The cruel mockery of the Saints
When Leeds gourmandised
On seven of the best against
The Southampton skittles
Sent toppling into oblivion
Sadly though for the Elland Road
Grandstanders, now bowed by history
Today Leeds stand on the brink again
The aching void, the perilous precipice
Staring down balefully
At the relegation trapdoor
When they must have thought
The top flight of football’s
High flyers
Would embrace them like long
Lost uncles
Who just wanted to see hello to
Football’s global family
Glad to see you again, we
Were of course delighted
At this reunion
Today Leeds surrendered to
East Enders in no mood
To sympathise with today’s
Back page notables
3-1 to West Ham
Rice, Bowen and Lanzini
Seal the deal
The Foxes await in their
Dark, nocturnal hideaway
West Ham determined
To be crowned at the King Power
Stadium of all stadiums
Leicester also caught up in
The cross hairs of their own
Doom and gloom
But for West Ham it’s safety
From the dreaded drop
Romford, Newham, Forest Gate,
Ilford, Dagenham, Gidea Park and Romford
Suburbia in saturnalia
Let Bacchus drink endlessly
From the finest East End
Grapes of wanton wine
Celebrate with the best
Never rest until
The ultimate test in Prague
Prague- here we come.
Oh! Wow, wonderment
Incredulity here
And now
Suspended belief
A mirage surely
West Ham, Prague
Bound, Euro Conference
Finalists
Fornals flying solo
A winner to preserve
In historic perpetuity
Claret and blue
Last night the Dutch
Of AZ Alkmaar never
Cloggers but stylists
And purists most
Certainly
But the happy Hammers
Meet their appointment
With destiny
It’s 1976 again
This time though
Italy rather than Belgium
Fiorentina, still capable
Of worldly sophistication
But this time in early
June,
A collision of cultures
Italy, melodramatic
Plots and Machiavellian
Conspiracies and
Mischievous machinations
Tricks and flicks
Intrigue and mystery
Always on tap
And yet this time
West Ham will be there
Poised to pounce
Should the Italians sulk
And sneer, snarl and
Indulge in self pity
So for 1976
And John Lyall
Read David Moyes
2023
Expectations realistic
But prepare for Prague
In early pages of summer
Maybe it could be this time
Out of relegation zone but for how long?
No longer in the drop zone
Relegation put on hold
In that awkward area
Of abeyance but for how
Long. Today but maybe not
After FA Cup battles at
Derby. West Ham clinging on
For dear life, near
Trapdoors yawning but
The Hammers survive
The final chapters of
This January neurosis
Yet another tremble of
Three points
Thank goodness the
Toffees of Everton
Came to the East End
Without a sweet tooth
Hammers negotiating
Nervous, jittery obstacles
Rather like the daunting
Hurdles of yesterday
And the present day
From now on
The most painful struggle
Now on 18 points
But the sharks are still
Circling claret and blue
Waters, poised to bite
With lethal intent
Next on the roster
Newcastle at St James
A terrifying prospect
Since Newcastle are just
Sweeping aside all comers
Renewed, revitalised,
Almost transformed over night
By Saudi petro dollars
Swimming in vivid affluence
Wealth in their every movement
Eddie Howe’s black and white
Stripes, unstoppable
But still within echoing distance
Of City and Arsenal
You can hear the dulcet Geordie tones
The Fog on the Tyne has lifted
Gently, discreetly and decisively
Newcastle have influence on their side
History slowly drifting away
For this is the present day Newcastle
A force of nature, wild, free
Uninhibited as the river that flows
Through the Tyne, goals in thick
Abundance
But on Saturday West Ham
Finally break the spell
Discovering a scientific
Breakthrough, a win,
A victory. It happened
When least expected
While we were patiently waiting
For that last bus
Instinctively, gratefully
To Newham or Dagenham
Claret and blue
Hammers finds Bowen
In double moods of goals
West Ham breathing again
No longer dependent on
Southampton, Wolves,
And Everton for the wind
To blow in the right direction
But danger still stalks
West Ham like a man
In a dark raincoat, collar
Up, Lurking in the alleyways
Sinister sniffs and coughs
Shoes tapping on sodden
Paving stones,
Following claret and blue
Shadows, ready to pounce
On a land of vulnerabilities
West Ham still looking over
Their shoulders, wary
Almost terrified at times
Since the spectre of relegation
Could still grab hold of them
Again
Oh to be a supporter of this
Rickety old organisation
Never sure of their bearings
From one season to the next
Neither top nor bottom
Two European driven seasons
And now lost, almost completely
Lacking in the fundamentals
West Ham threatened by another
Monstrous catastrophe
Relegation again?
And yet it was always
Thus, but not this time
Rise from the ashes
Yes Phoenix you can
Do it West Ham
32 more points for
Premier League safety
Feasibility study
Completed
It can be done
And will materialise
Surely, definitely
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About This Site
Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.
Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!
Latest Poems
Phil Brennan
3rd August 2026
joe morris
2nd August 2026
Phil Brennan
30th July 2026
joe morris
30th July 2026
Jason Prasad
28th July 2026
Denys E. W. Jones
26th July 2026
joe morris
26th July 2026
Jason Prasad
22nd July 2026
joe morris
21st July 2026
Phil Brennan
21st July 2026
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
28th July 2026 at 9:40 pm
Hi Denys. Thanks for your kind words. I could have mentioned Dixie Dean but decided not to.
Best wishes, mate
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26th July 2026 at 3:47 pm
Great knowledge of Everton history, Joe.
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23rd July 2026 at 6:54 pm
Hi Jason,
Sorry I forgot to congratulate you on your excellent poem as well.
Keep well
Joe
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23rd July 2026 at 6:43 pm
Hi Jason,
Thanks so much for your kind words about Kevin Keegan, a footballer of legendary status and deeply missed.
Best wishes
Joe
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23rd July 2026 at 12:01 pm
Thank you, Crispin. I will defo encorage my bunch to contribute and will of course clear it with staff room.
Many thanks
Jase
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22nd July 2026 at 6:48 pm
Great poem Jase.
You are a man of my own heart …
And great to hear that you your students poems from our site.
Keep on and more please
if ever some of your students write anything suitable for here and most importantly they give you permission to publish them, you can always do so under your name referencing their names and the school..and year.
Best Crispin
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22nd July 2026 at 10:29 am
I think this is best thing I have read so far about the legend. Thanks
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22nd July 2026 at 10:22 am
One of the greats, inspired my generation of school kids in the 80s
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23rd May 2026 at 3:35 pm
Hi Crispin,
Thanks for the featured poem for the Arsenal Premier League victory. I love that photo showing the Arsenal ladies and fans in full rattle and rosette mode. I’ve seen it before quite a few times and, I think, a bit iconic. I think it was before the Gunners victory against Liverpool in the 1950 FA Cup Final. Great photograph.
Thanks
Joe
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8th May 2026 at 4:21 pm
Thanks for that Joe. Yes it’s been some season we had a blip but came out of it and finished strong. A mate of mine supports West Ham here in Coventry and my next door neighbour is a Spurs supporter, and both are getting edgy ! I like the Championship though as it’s competitive and has some good teams, players, and fans. Anyway we are back in the top flight and who knows what will happen ?
Cheers. Kev.
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